Well-travelled was a word that Ivy would readily apply to herself. Her education had involved various summer trips abroad, as well as a semester in Paris during college. And being a rider for an international stable brought even more travel into her life. But this was one of the longest trips she had ever made. The grey chill of Dulles airport in Washington DC gave way to the sterile environment of the Airbus. Finally, after almost twenty hours of flight, they touched down in the dry glare of the desert.

It was exotic. No, not quite that. It was surreal. A cold dry breeze blew from the distant desert into the gleaming white marble of the city, and the sun rose over the urban sprawl, tinting the walls pink and peach. The Islamic call to prayer skated across Ivy’s nerves, beautiful and strange, raising goosebumps.

The city seemed a monument to progress. No graffiti marred the white walls, no litter marred the empty streets. It reminded Ivy of a museum – or a mausoleum. The golden domes of the mosques, the giant statutory of fierce ancient warriors, the burbling fountains. Beautiful and completely devoid of life. Ivy shrugged into a cardigan and stepped into her guide’s minivan.

Later, she found abundant life in the city, hidden in the leafy suburbs and maze of roads far from the museum district. She was introduced to her guide’s family, smiling, the language barrier no impediment to hospitality. She was seated comfortably and plied with a variety of foods, rice pilaf fragrant with subtle herbs, lamb grilled on a skewer, some sort of fish stew. And bread. So much bread. Half-moons of flatbread stuffed with apricots and eggplant. Flat breads wrapped around succulent meat that It was far less spicy than she had expected, and truly delicious. She loved it all, and her hosts’ delighted expressions made her grin back. It was hard to make her way to her soulless hotel room at the end of the night.

The festival she has come to attend was still a full day away. So the next morning her guide and she travelled on from the city into the vastness of the desert. The wind grew warmer and warmer as the sun rose., and the road wound through several small settlements and eventually pulled into a parking lot. Low buildings huddled in the lee of a small rocky ridge. They disembarked into the blessed coolness of a large dim building that smelled of horse and hay.

Ivy had never given much thought over the words “spirit animal” other than being vaguely uneasy over possible cultural appropriation. But after years as a horsewoman, having travelled halfway across the world, she came face-to-face with… an astounding creature. A shining spirit. A spirit animal.

The creature drifted toward her, glowing in the dim light. A pair of delicate, white-rimmed nostrils sniffed her outstretched hand. With a sudden snort, she danced around Ivy, feet seemingly suspended just above the sand below her, tail furling and unfurling like a banner. Then she came to rest, head turned to once side coyly, and fixed the woman with one brilliant blue eye. Ivy felt her heart stutter, then begin to pound. Was this vision even real?

Finally, she remembered to breathe. Then reason returned, and her stomach fluttered and fell with excitement and dread. All she could think to do was chant a litany in her head. “I am a rational woman, I am a rational woman, I am a rational woman.” Much later, in the blandness of her beige and white hotel room, Ivy lay stunned between the clean white coolness of the sheets. Long after the moon set, in the darkest part of the night, she wept.